Page 13 of A Storm in Every Heart (Enchanted Legacies #2)

I barely have time to process his words before he shoves me aside and grips the handle of the carriage door, yanking it open.

The door swings wide, and Daemon leaps out, his boots hitting the ground with a solid thud.

Truly excited for the first time in days, I gather my long heavy skirt and tumble out of the carriage after him.

Outside, the line of ornate carriages, each adorned with intricate crimson filigree, has come to a halt.

Nobles dressed in wrinkled silks and crushed velvets begin to step down onto the cobblestone street, their faces relieved to be back in the fresh air.

Many are holding jackets and shawls over their arms, as if they were unprepared for the much hotter climate.

I lift my gaze over the sea of noble heads, taking in the full splendor of the enormous white stone castle. Its towering turrets stretch skyward, each adorned with vibrant green flags.

“That must be them,” Daemon says ruefully, pointing up at the castle.

I follow his gaze, and my eyes settle on the expansive, round balcony, which serves as a stage for five finely dressed figures.

King Sebastian and Queen Marbella stand in the center, their crowns glinting in the sun.

The king is tall, with midnight skin and curly black hair.

The queen is fair-skinned but sun-tanned, and her long brunette hair is pulled up in an elaborate waterfall of braids.

Beside the king and queen are three beautiful women who must be the princesses. I know two of them are identical twins, but at this distance I can’t tell which. All three are bronze-skinned and dark-haired, and dressed in stunning, colorful silk gowns.

I can’t help but notice that there’s no prince among them.

“Which one do you think is Princess Serena?” I ask.

Daemon looks unconcerned. “Could be any of them. I doubt Thorne will even know the difference.”

I snort. He’s probably right. Prince Thorne is certainly self-absorbed enough that I’d imagine all three princesses would be interchangeable to him.

I bite my lip. I’m dying to ask where the prince is, but Daemon will probably make fun of me for caring.

Fortunately, before I can make a fool of myself, my question is answered for me.

Behind the king and queen, two additional figures emerge onto the balcony.

One is a tall, slender man with blonde hair and a pale complexion, different enough from the royal family that I can tell at a distance that he isn’t one of them.

He must be a high-ranking servant, or perhaps an advisor, as no one seems bothered by his presence, and he’s engaged in what looks to be a tense exchange with the second newcomer.

I crane my neck, willing King Sebastian to step to the side so that I can see better.

To my excitement, he does. The king shifts, and finally the sixth member of the royal family falls into position beside his father.

The prince appears to be around eighteen years old, and entirely too handsome.

His skin is a warm, sun-kissed tan, complimenting the striking contrast of his short, jet-black hair.

Though it has been years since that unforgettable day in the harbor, the moment my eyes land on him, recognition strikes me instantly.

My heartbeat kicks up, racing against my chest. I knew it .

Like he can feel me looking, Prince Kastian turns his head and looks in my direction, and that single action sends me spiraling.

Before I can stop myself, my mind floods with every impossible daydream and childish fantasy I’ve suppressed for the last eight years.

I can picture how we’ll bump into each other at dinner, or perhaps outside in the garden.

Prince Kastian will remember me instantly and admit that he’s been looking for me for years.

He still has the key I gave him, and on our wedding day he’ll give it back to me as a token of affection and even though I’ll have access to an endless supply of jewels, I’ll wear the key as a necklace instead.

“What’s wrong with you?” Daemon asks, nudging my shoulder.

“Nothing, I was just— wait , who is that ?”

My voice cracks, and my jaw goes slack as an eighth figure appears on the balcony. An olive-skinned brunette in a pink gown steps outside and stands beside Prince Kastian. She leans over and says something in his ear, putting her hand lightly on his arm.

Daemon turns to look. “Dunno,” he says, completely unaware of the turmoil now roiling in the back of my mind.

Aunt Beatrix finally climbs out of the carriage and comes to stand beside me. “That’s Lady Lyra Von Bargen,” she says, glancing curiously at me. “She’s betrothed to the prince. The blonde man is her father, Magnus Von Bargen. He’s an advisor to the king.”

My stomach clenches with mingled disappointment and embarrassment.

I’m such an idiot, fantasizing about a prince who doesn’t know me and is already engaged to someone else. What was I thinking?

I look back at the balcony—at Prince Kastian and Lyra Von Bargen—and despite knowing how pointless and ridiculous it is, my stormy temper rises like a turbulent sea.

I’m not sure whom I’m angry with. Myself, I suppose, for being childish enough to feel envy over a Prince I’ve hardly even met. Still, the feeling is uncomfortably intense—possessive and disembodied, as if it’s coming from a part of myself I didn’t know existed.

And for the first time in my life, a little voice in the back of my mind whispers: “Drown, drown, drown.”